A Minor Detour
by A.Diamond
Summary: When Captain Arthur Pendragon of Camelot's starship Albion arranges a "vacation" for himself and First Navigation Officer Merlin Emrys by way of a strategic stranding, they have no way of knowing the events he's set in motion will send them spinning out to the far reaches of the galaxy. The adventure could either break their friendship or transform it into something new.
1. Chapter 1

Merlin cursed, slamming his fists against the navigation pane so that he didn't hit anything more vital. "What did I tell you, nebulabrain?" he yelled. "Didn't I say we needed to adjust one, one-five at the last asteroid field?"

"Mmhmm," Arthur agreed. He sat in his plush, swivelling chair, feet kicked up onto the console and face smooth with unconcerned boredom. "And what did I say to that?"

"You said, 'No, Merlin. I'm the captain, Merlin. I know better than you and I don't have to listen to anyone, Merlin.'"

Arthur ignored the remarkably well-executed mimicry. "And has anything changed since I said that to make you think your opinion is any more necessary now than it was then?"

Staring between his captain and the vast vacuum around their ship, Merlin sputtered in outrage. "You mean other than the fact that we're stuck orbiting around a useless smegging chunk of frozen rock because we're nearly out of fuel, with no habitable planets or waystations anywhere in range?"

"Yes," Arthur said like it was a perfectly rational thing to say, "other than that."

"You, you... Oh, there aren't even words for what you are!"

"I'm sure you can think of a few. There's _commanding officer_ , _captain_ , really just _sir_ would do, or—"

"Or _smug git who got us stranded with three weeks of life support and food_?" Merlin offered scathingly.

Arthur's feet dropped to the floor and he sat forward, boredom giving way to something terrifyingly excited. "Now tell me, Merlin, once we don't show up for the rendezvous, how long do you think it'll take the Knights to track us down and rescue us?"

"A week, maybe two. What—" Merlin cut himself off at Arthur's growing grin. "You didn't. You did! You utter arsehole. You know, most people just put in for vacation!"

The captain shrugged, entirely unrepentant but a touch melancholy. "I don't really get vacation, you know that. Between the territory dispute with the Mercian Front, the negotiations with Nemeth, and let's not even talk about the mess that is Essetir Corp... It's been years, Merlin. And you've been right there with me, don't tell me you couldn't use a break."

It was true; even if Merlin hadn't been there for it all, he had read the growing exhaustion in Arthur's tense days and insomniac nights. His captain deserved this, and yet—"And I'm sure once we get back to the _Albion_ and have to explain ourselves to the Commander, it'll all be my fault?"

"Well, of course." Merlin hated that particular smirk of Arthur's. "Father already thinks you're mentally deficient, and you _are_ the worst navigator in the Five Systems."

Merlin sent him a rude gesture, picked up from _Albion_ 's Sidhe cook. "Fine, fine. Too late to do anything about it now. So, how are we going to keep ourselves entertained?"

Eyes bright with delighted malice, Arthur reached beneath his chair and pulled out a metal and glass bottle full of swirling violet liquid.

"No." The hangover from plasmic vodka was worse than being hit with three stun zaps and a cat-sized boulder, which Merlin knew from personal experience that he really preferred not to remember.

"Yes."

"Arthur, no!"

"I can make it an order, Merlin."

Merlin gave in. It wasn't just that Arthur would abuse his authority—he would, no question, and find some way to officially justify it later. For the first time in as long as Merlin could remember, Arthur was free from responsibility and enjoying himself.

Even if that joy usually came at Merlin's expense, it was a pleasure to see.

"I'll get the glasses," he grumbled, but he could tell by Arthur's genuine smile that he hadn't succeeded in suppressing his own grin.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm going to smegging kill you."

"I'm going to smegging kill you, _sir_ ," Arthur corrected, though there was a trace of uncertainty in his usually smug voice.

"I'm not kidding this time. If I do it, I'll have twice as much oxygen and more than enough food to last past that. I mean, you're probably enough for a week at least."

"Are you..." Arthur's face twitched somewhere between hurt and horrified, and Merlin waited for the overly dramatic disgust at his suggestion. But instead of balking at Merlin's casual mention of cannibalism, Arthur put on a pout and asked, "Are you saying I'm fat?"

With a strangled scream, Merlin threw a tin of preserved dustfish at Arthur's head. There wasn't a lot of force behind it, sadly, and Arthur tilted aside to avoid it easily as it soared past him and bumped against a wall.

Artificial gravity had been the first thing to go when they'd reached a week and a half with no rescue.

"Walking's stupid anyway," Arthur had declared as he fiddled with the settings. "What's the point of making ourselves work harder when we're on vacation?"

But Merlin knew that underneath the careless excuse, Arthur had done the same calculations he had. Shutting off the non-vital functions of their life support could make it last a week longer. Temperature control couldn't go off completely, but it had been sliding slowly colder for the past few days.

At least the chill air made it harder for scent to travel; showers had been completely out of the question for over a week.

They had four days of food left, but that didn't really matter. Their air would run out in just over four hours. Arthur either didn't understand that or didn't care. With an inward sigh, Merlin admitted that wasn't fair—though he didn't know why he cared about being fair to Arthur anymore, since it was his fault they were in this mess.

Arthur clearly knew how serious their situation was. Yes, he kept making blithe comments and ignoring Merlin when he tried to talk about what they were going to do, but he'd also lost the boyish glow of happiness that had come with their impromptu holiday, and Merlin knew he wasn't sleeping again.

Arthur sat in his captain's chair and snagged the tin Merlin had thrown as it drifted past him again. "I guess I might as well," he said casually as he opened it and wrinkled his nose at the smelly, mushy mess inside—preserved dustfish was the most emergent of emergency rations, as nutritious as it was appalling.

He tried to smirk as he lifted a gelatinous fin and saluted Merlin with it, and it was such a terrible impersonation of himself that Merlin felt guilty at Arthur's guilt. Which was ridiculous. Arthur deserved to feel guilty.

"They'll probably make a holo about us, you know," Merlin mused glumly. "And not a flattering one, either."

"Merlin," Arthur began, and he looked so devastated that Merlin couldn't take it.

"Oh, calm down." Merlin flapped a hand and grinned at Arthur. "We do a stupid, dangerous job in a tiny metal box in the frozen vacuum of the universe. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

Arthur released the can of disgusting fish, letting it float away, and stared after it forlornly. "This isn't the job, though. This was me being selfish and reckless because I can't stand up to my father."

"Well, who can, really?"

"You." Arthur turned back to Merlin. "You've never been afraid to talk back to him. Or me."

"First of all, you don't scare anyone except Owain. And second, I think we've established that I'm an idiot with no sense of self-preservation."

Finally smiling a little, Arthur asked, "Did you really have to sneeze on him right after he finally let you out of quarantine? Twice?"

Merlin laughed and Arthur joined him, their troubles momentarily forgotten at the memory of Uther's struggle: caught between rage and worry, half sure Merlin was infected with bubonic flu after all but suspecting he was being deliberately insubordinate.

As they calmed down, Merlin leaned forward earnestly. "Arthur, I mean it. It's been an honor to serve with you. If this really is the end, there's no one else I'd rather spend it with."

Arthur was about to respond, eyes glittering with a threat of tears that Merlin had never seen before, when every speaker in the ship crackled to life around them with a harsh voice:

"How disturbingly touching."


	3. Chapter 3

"Arthur—" Merlin started to whisper, glancing nervously around the bridge.

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur hissed back. "Shut up for once in your life, for the love of stardust, and let me do the talking."

Normally Merlin would have played off the rebuke with a joke, but Arthur seemed to really mean it this time. The only thing that stopped that from hurting Merlin's feelings was the fact that Arthur also appeared extremely agitated, more unsettled than Merlin had ever seen him before—and they'd just been discussing their probable future of starving, suffocating, and/or murdering each other to death.

Straightening in his chair and facing the viewscreen, even though there was no visual link up, Arthur hailed their mysterious voice. "I am Captain—"

"Don't care," the voice interrupted. It didn't say anything else, though, so he tried again.

"We've found ourselves in a bit of distress, so if you'd be able to assist us—"

"Oooooooor," the voice cut in again, and Arthur's heart sank with each second it drew out the vowel, "I could kill you and sell your ship for parts."

And that was exactly what Arthur had been afraid of. Anyone who was A. this far out in the middle of nowhere while B. not following any of the accepted protocols for greeting strange ships or C. introducing themselves was more likely to be trouble than help. Then there was D., and this was really the most important, Arthur really didn't like the sound of that snide, calculating voice taking over his ship.

True, it would have been worse if it had been the _Albion_ and not this little shuttle, but it was still _his_. This scavenging interloper had no right to it or any of his systems as long as he was alive—which, as just mentioned, probably wasn't going to be very much longer.

As he tried to come up with a threat convincing enough to buy them some time even though it would be pretty clear they couldn't back it up, Merlin spoke up. He sounded entirely too cheerful for the situation.

"I mean, you could do that, sure," he said as though it were a reasonable and not at all suicidal thing to say. He ignored Arthur's best glare, which he had inherited from the Commander and had cowed much braver men than he, and went on, "But that seems like a whole lot of work on your part, when instead you could just wait for us to die all on our own."

"Merlin, if you're trying to be helpful, let me assure you it's not working."

Merlin ignored Arthur, because Merlin had a plan and his plans were always better than Arthur's. His captain never admitted that, either taking the credit or chalking it up to dumb luck, but Merlin had long since given up on that fight.

"But that could take days," the voice said thoughtfully, "and my time is more valuable than that. No, I think it's best to just off you ourselves."

"Sure, sure," Merlin agreed easily, "you're right. It's a pretty good little shuttle, lots of new gizmos and gadgets. You'll get a lot for it. It's definitely worth risking the wrath of Camelot."

There was a very derisive snort at that. "For one little shuttle with two idiots who got themselves stranded out here? Assuming they even figure out what happened to you, honestly, I'm doing them a favor by getting rid of you. I'm sure they'd be better off not paying and feeding you."

"Oh, yeah, the ship's totally expendable. And Commander Pendragon would probably pay you even more than this hunk is worth just to be free of me." Merlin dodged Arthur, who had lunged out of his chair in an attempt to throttle him. Skirting circles around a console to keep it between him and Arthur, he added, "He's a little more attached to his son, though."

Arthur froze as the voice's interest perked up. "I'm sorry, what now?"

"Oh, that's right." Merlin smirked at Arthur, though he still didn't dare come out from behind the steel barricade. "We didn't quite finish our introductions! I'm First Whatever You Don't Really Care, and he's Captain Arthur Pendragon of the _Albion_."

The speakers were silent and for a moment Arthur thought Merlin had actually succeeded in driving them off. He supposed it made sense that his name had that effect, though. Now they were back to their original dilemma of imminent demise, though. Then the entire shuttle shook as alarms started blaring.

"I hope you're happy, Merlin," Arthur snarled as they were drawn helplessly towards the heart of an unknown but clearly unfriendly ship they still couldn't see. "We don't even have a weapons cache on this useless bucket!"

Merlin was grinning like the idiot he was. "I really am, Arthur. I'm so very happy."

"Yes, I can see why you're so _thrilled_ ," Arthur bit back. "After all, we're just about to be captured and held hostage by some murderous scrap vulture, that sounds like a great adventure to me!"

"Arthur." Merlin was obnoxiously smug as he looked at Arthur like a slow child. "What's the most important part of effectively ransoming a hostage?"

"Oh, I don't know, willingness to inflict violent bodily harm and suffering?"

"Keeping them _alive_ , smeghead. Food, Arthur. Oxygen. Heat."

"Oh."

"That's a very odd way of pronouncing _Thank you for charming your way out of my assured death, Merlin_. You should really practice your enunciation."

"Merlin."

"Yes, Arthur?"

Merlin sounded so very hopeful that it was even more satisfying than usual to order, "Shut up."


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur stared at Merlin.

Merlin stared at Arthur.

Arthur wondered how he was going to get himself out of the electroshackles currently holding him against the wall, through the forcefield making an impenetrable barrier out of the open side of his cell, past the scavenger crewmember who was supposed to be keeping an eye on them but was watching what sounded like some horribly fake porn on his handheld with his unoccupied hand kept firmly on his blaster, and through the forcefield making an impenetrable barrier out of the open side of Merlin's cell, so that he could strangle the git.

Merlin wondered if it wouldn't have been better to asphyxiate.

"Look," he tried to reason over the faint hum of the forcefields and the extremely off-putting grunts and squeals of the guard's entertainment, "it could really be a lot worse."

Arthur didn't say anything, but his glare darkened. He was imagining the sad little gurgle Merlin would make when Arthur throttled him. It would be very satisfying.

"I mean, sure we're being ransomed off, but we're alive! And the slop wasn't particularly good, but food is food and at least it was better than dustfish, right? And okay, the nice cozy heat is kind of counteracted by the whole being stripped naked and shackled to a cold wall thing, but..." Merlin trailed off, realizing he didn't really have anything to add as a positive there.

"It'll be okay," he said finally, earnestly. "Your father will get us back safely and yell a bit and then probably toss me in the brig for a few months, but that's pretty typical, you know?"

Arthur softened in spite of himself. It was pretty much entirely his fault they'd ended up in this mess to begin with, and Merlin had found them a chance when Arthur couldn't.

Just as he was about to relent and throw Merlin a less-than-full-strength insult to reassure him they were back on good terms, the door to the little hold-turned-brig slid open with the shriek of metal grinding on metal.

Their guard floundered out of his chair, trying to shut off his screen and tuck himself away at the same time, but the captain of the scavenger ship ignored him and stood just at the start of the forcefields where he could easily look back and forth between Merlin and Arthur.

The vulture's name was Gwaine, and as far as Arthur was concerned he was a bigger pile of trash than anything he'd ever scrapped and sold.

"All right, gents. I've got good news and bad news. What do you want first?"

Merlin looked at Arthur, and Arthur glared at Gwaine, who shrugged easily.

"Good news it is!" Gwaine flashed Arthur a blinding smile that went entirely unappreciated. "Daddy wants you back after all. He's willing to pay a frankly ridiculous ransom, I was really expecting a bit of negotiation, and he's even throwing in the ship as long as I treat you like a gentleman. So I'll be gracious and give you your pants back when he gets here, though as your father, he's probably seen it before."

Arthur ground his teeth to avoid saying anything that would invite Gwaine to stop being a gentleman, but Merlin took up the slack and said, cheerfully, "That's very kind indeed, thank you!"

"Don't thank me yet." Their captor's grin faded slightly as he turned to Merlin, but he slapped a smirk back on a second later. "Papa Pendragon says he'd sooner throw you out an airlock himself than pay your ransom. 'I'll give you twice that for the favor of being rid of him,' he says. So unfortunately for you, you've just become worse than worthless to me."

Even as Merlin was processing the terrible information, Gwaine turned away and instructed two of his crew, "Take him down and bring him to the bay."

"Arthur?" His voice cracked uncertainly as the two men manhandled him out of the shackles and started dragging him, struggling futilely, away from the cell. "Arthur!"

"Merlin! I'll pay for him," Arthur called at Gwaine's back. "I can get the money once I'm back at my ship, you have to know I'm good for it. I'll come back for him, I'll pay you to take him somewhere safe, I'll pay anything you want, just bring him back!"

Gwaine and his men ignored Arthur. Merlin twisted against the hands pulling him along, fighting to look back at Arthur.

Arthur had to strain his own neck to track Merlin as he was dragged off. Their eyes locked. Merlin's were blue and wide and desperate, and Arthur suspected his were the same as he yelled again, "Merlin!"

The doors ground shut, cutting off Merlin's despairing gaze and leaving Arthur alone but for the echo of his frantic shouting.


	5. Chapter 5

"Arthur!" Merlin yelled again, but the ill-fitting metal doors were closed and his captain—his friend—was chained on the other side while his bare arse was being dragged to an airlock by two brutes as their smirking boss followed along behind.

Merlin usually tried not to panic. Yes, he'd rant when Arthur got them into stupid and unnecessary danger, and sometimes his plans to get them out of it were more flustered guesses than actual tactical decisions (which may have been how he and Arthur ended up chained naked in Gwaine's ship to begin with), but he knew he could usually work something out.

Now he was out of ideas, out of options, and it seemed like an appropriate time to panic.

He renewed his struggles, catching his captors off-guard just enough that he was able to break one arm free from their grasp. Seizing what was probably his only chance, he twisted to grab at one of their blasters, but another hand beat him to it: Gwaine, whom he'd lost track of in the scuffle.

Merlin froze as the business end of the blaster dug bruisingly into the underside of his jaw. He couldn't swallow past the pressure of against his throat, could barely even breathe, as Gwaine looked him over with that infuriating crooked smile still in place.

"Calm down," the scavenger told him lightly, like he hadn't just shortened his lifespan however long it would have taken them to get the the airlock.

"Yes, sorry, do forgive me for trying not to get murdered," Merlin snapped back.

Gwaine, the insufferable git, just laughed. "Okay, fair enough. Look, I promise no one's going to be getting murdered. That"—he moved the weapon away from Merlin's jaw and used it to gesture back at the cargo hold doors—"was just a little drama for Princess Pendragon's sake. If you agree to my proposal, it'll make things easier for him to think you're dead. If not?" He shrugged. "I'll let him ransom you when he gets back to daddy's ship."

"Whatever you're planning, having Arthur think you killed me won't make it easier."

"Yeah," said Gwaine, a speculative expression overtaking his face as he looked again at Merlin. "I'm starting to get the idea that he's not quite as close to a replicated copy of the Admiral as Uther wants everyone to believe."

Merlin wondered at Gwaine's apparent familiarity with Uther and Camelot's propaganda, but before his thoughts could get far, Gwaine's contemplative look fell back into an easy grin as he said, "But either way, I think we can all agree that you're underappreciated on the _Albion_. So, how would you like a new job?"

Merlin gaped at him, then at the two nameless scavenger crewmen who didn't seem the least bit fazed by the unexpected offer.

Then all four of them fell over as a loud explosion shook the ship.


	6. Chapter 6

"The smeg was that?" Gwaine shouted at his goons as he righted himself. Unfortunately, his next act was getting his hand on a blaster and turning it more or less in the direction of Merlin's sprawled form—as if he were actually any kind of threat under the best circumstances, never mind unarmed, stunned, and knocked on his ass.

Merlin shrugged and spread his hands helplessly, keeping his mouth firmly closed. Gwaine had indicated that he didn't actually plan to kill Merlin, so unless whatever attack was happening changed that, Merlin wanted to keep it that way. He had it on good authority (Arthur) that producing sounds from his face was an excellent way to spur anyone on to murder.

Arthur was of course full of it, willfully oblivious to all the times Merlin's smooth wit and charming smile had wriggled them out of trouble, but Gwaine seemed on edge enough that this time Merlin really didn't want to push his luck.

The ship lurched again before Gwaine got an answer. He cursed and holstered the blaster, hauling Merlin to his feet by the wrist and scowling at him.

"Why do I get the feeling you have something to do with this?" he demanded.

"Because your life of crime has made you needlessly paranoid?"

Well, so much for shutting up. But Gwaine actually grinned and relaxed, so Merlin mentally marked another tick in the win column. It was still heavily, depressingly outweighed by the loss column. Arthur was responsible for most of those marks.

"You're probably right," Gwaine said with a grin. "Let's go see what it is, then. And if you're lying to me," he added cheerfully, pulling Merlin through the door to the bridge, "I'll just throw you out the airlock after all."

"Now, Gwaine, that's just rude." The woman's voice came through over the intercom and Merlin flinched, trying to hide somewhere. He ended up ducking behind Gwaine, of all people, mostly because Gwaine still hadn't let go of his wrist.

Because of course, this was Merlin's life so of course, there was a woman up on the viewscreen, leering right at him while he was still naked and being manhandled.

She went on, "I'll admit, I expected a little more clothing and a little less scrawniness, but I guess he is your type. He even seems a little fond of you already! But I'm going to have to insist that you hand the little Pendragon over."

Gwaine's hand tightened. "This isn't—"

"—what it looks like," Merlin interrupted before Gwaine could do anything stupid like reveal that Merlin was just plain, unimportant Merlin. "Not that it would be any of your business if it were. Which it's not. And who are you, again? You obviously know who I am, so you know who my father is, so if you're any smarter than this smug vulture, you'll know you'd do better not to cross me."

She flashed her teeth at him, more of a snarl than a smile, and said, "You really are just as obnoxiously arrogant as they say."

Merlin prided himself on an excellent Arthur impression.

"Morgause," Gwaine drawled slowly, answering at least part of Merlin's question, "are you really in a position to lecture me about rudeness after listening in on encrypted communications?"

She waved a dismissive hand. "Then encrypt your communications better, sweatheart. Now give me the boy or I'll send my crew to throw _you_ out the airlock." She eyed Merlin again. "You can keep the uniform, though."

That thought sent a very unpleasant shiver down Merlin's spine, but it was still better than imagining Arthur in the same position. Fortunately, Gwaine continued to display whatever half-baked form of honor he believed in.

"I'm holding him for ransom, you pervert, not some kind of personal sex toy. Come on, don't turn this into a fight. You owe me for that thing on Damogran, remember?"

Morgause's imitation of a frown actually looked less threatening than her smile had, but not by much—there were still a lot of teeth involved. "I suppose I do. But I also owe Uther Pendragon a great deal of suffering, and that debt's much older."

"How's this, then," Gwaine offered after a moment's consideration. "I'd hate to deny you your shot at Old Man Penny, but I really need his money. He's coming here to make the trade, so how about you just lurk in the background and make your move once I'm out of the way, hm?"

So much for Gwaine's honor. "You lying, backstabbing coward," Merlin hissed despite his earlier determination not to annoy Gwaine. "You don't stand a chance against the _Albion_ , even together. You'll get blown into the void and—mmfff!"

Gwaine's hand left Merlin's wrist to clasp over his mouth, fingers digging into his jaw hard enough to bruise. "No one really cares about your opinion, _Arthur_." Gwaine's voice was low and dangerous.

"That's too bad," Arthur said from behind them, and his voice was also low and dangerous, "because my opinion is that you should unhand my navigator before I blast your ridiculously shaggy head off."

The image on the viewscreen and the crackle of the speakers both flickered off as Gwaine released Merlin with a curse, Morgause apparently deciding to run while the running was good.

Merlin spun around to grin at Arthur, then definitely did not squeak in an undignified manner and cover his dangly bits upon seeing the entire Knights squad standing behind their leader—who had procured a uniform from somewhere and looked as immaculate as ever in it.

Everyone snickered at him, and Elyan added a wave.

"We'd just got here and were trying to decide how to go in when someone conveniently blew a hole in the side of the ship!" he explained cheerily. "So we thought we'd come say hi."

"Hi, Merlin!" the Knights chorused obediently, because they were all awful.


	7. Chapter 7

Merlin still didn't know where Arthur had got his perfectly pressed uniform from, because the Knights insisted they didn't have any spares for him. And Gwaine, terrible wretch that he was, shook his head and grinned despite the restraints fastening his hands behind his back.

"Sorry, mate, I tossed 'em out the airlock."

Merlin glared. From a distance; he'd had quite enough of getting up close and personal with strangers while his privates were hanging out.

"You told Arthur you were going to let him put his pants back on before the Admiral got here."

"Well sure, _his_ pants. Yours, I tossed."

"All right, where're his pants, then?"

"You want to get in your captain's pants?" Gwaine's voice was inappropriately delighted for how much trouble he was going to be in once Uther arrived.

Looking around, Merlin took in the grinning scrap vulture and his unhappily cuffed goons, his own snickering colleagues, and Arthur, leaning against the doorway with arms crossed and smirk delighted.

That was how it was going to be? Fine. Merlin locked his eyes defiantly with Arthur's as he said, "Yeah, maybe I do."

Guffaws erupted around them, but Arthur—Merlin was fairly certain that was a blush flaring briefly on his high cheekbones.

"Owain, get him some clothes," he snapped, breaking his gaze away from Merlin and turning to the viewscreen. "The Admiral should be here shortly."

The Knights' mischievous humor faded with the command, though Gwaine still looked equal parts amused and thoughtful. Owain found a supply cabinet stuffed with faded black jumpsuits, matches to the outfits Gwaine's men wore, and picked one at random for Merlin to put on. It was baggy enough to fit two of him and a debris field to boot, but at least it was the proper length. After being overexposed for hours, he preferred swimming in the uniform to having it ride up his wrists and ankles for being too short.

Leon's holocomm buzzed and lit up. With a significant look at Arthur, he pulled it from his belt and touched the screen.

"Admiral Pendragon," he greeted when an image of Uther appeared, hovering over the unit. "Captain Pendragon and Navigation Officer Emrys have been secured and the culprits are detained."

"Good work, Lieutenant Bernard. Is the captain hurt?"

"No, Father," Arthur answered directly. "I'm unharmed."

"I'm glad," Uther said, for once actually sounding sincere. "The _Albion_ will be arriving in a few more minutes to recover you and your shuttle. Is it salvageable?"

"It ought to be, there was only minimal damage when they boarded it."

Merlin was fine, too, thanks. But of course Uther didn't care about him. Uther had wanted him thrown out the airlock, and he better not think Merlin was about to forget that any time soon.

Apparently Merlin's vengeance wasn't high on his list of concerns.

"Lieutenant Bernard, take Emrys into custody. He's to be confined to the brig immediately upon our rendezvous."

Everyone stared at Merlin in shock, even the scrap goons who only connected the order to him based on the Knights' reactions. The silence was only broken by Leon's tentative, "On what grounds, Sir?"

"For now, my authority is sufficient. There will be a full list of charges prepared for his court martial, and I assure you they will be quite extensive. This is long past overdue."

"Father!" Arthur protested, but Uther wouldn't hear it. His profile vanished without another word as he terminated the link.

Though he looked pained, Leon turned to Percival and nodded somberly. "You heard the Admiral."

"No," Arthur ordered. He moved between Percival and Merlin, who could only stand there dumbly.

Admiral Pendragon clearly hated him, had offhandedly tossed him into the cells more than once, but he'd never gone so far as to file charges before. Merlin hadn't even done anything this time. Granted, he didn't do anything most times Uther got annoyed with him, but he was even more innocent than usual. It didn't matter. Uther would bury him.

He was staring down the end of his career, quite probably the end of his freedom, and there was nothing he could do.

There was nothing Arthur could do, either. Despite his protests, his father outranked him considerably. Watching him step away as that realization hit him was almost as hard as Merlin realizing it himself. The Knights were loyal friends, but even they wouldn't risk sharing Merlin's fate by defying a direct order. Uther reacted very poorly to insubordination.

"I'm sorry," Percival told him softly as he fastened Merlin's unresisting hands behind his back.

Merlin nodded numbly, but he couldn't find anything to say to that. Nor did he have a response to Arthur, who grabbed his shoulder and promised, "I'll talk to him. I'll fix this, Merlin. It's all my fault."

Merlin did try to smile reassuringly at him, but Arthur's clenching fingers told him it wasn't particularly effective. He didn't make another attempt; he didn't have any more effort in him. He was used to hopeless situations, but he couldn't fix this.

Then the _Albion_ arrived and another squad took over. Two security officers Merlin only recognized in passing manhandled him into the connector tunnel wordlessly. Merlin had been away from his ship for weeks, first on the mission with Arthur and then stranded on their so-called vacation. In the time between their impending death and the twin disasters of Gwaine and Morgause, he hadn't thought he'd ever make it back.

And when he finally got to set foot on the _Albion_ again, it was only to be hauled off to the brig without even being allowed to stop in his room for his own uniform.

Locked away behind a forcefield for the second time that day (though at least this time he had clothes, however ill-fitting), Merlin let his head fall back against the wall of his cell. Squeezing his eyes shut against the tears he refused to give in to, he whispered, "Welcome home."


	8. Chapter 8

Gwaine kicked at the wall and revelled in the resounding echo of the bang that resulted. The heavily armed security officer keeping an eye on him gave him (yet another) unimpressed look, which was the most he'd gotten out of her so far. Well, that wasn't quite true—she'd stifled a snicker when his first kick, aimed at the forcefield closing off his cell, had given him a nasty shock. But she wasn't much for talking, apparently.

He kicked the wall again. No reaction, which meant no distraction from what was really bothering him; he didn't actually want to talk a Camelot tightasses.

He was in trouble.

That wasn't new. He ran illegal salvage and occasional incidental ransoming operations, he hadn't _not_ been in trouble since he'd first learned to pilot a ship and taken off with his dad's brand new solar yacht at the tender age of eleven. The thing had been a rich man's toy, more flash than power, but it had sold well. He'd bought a junker, fixed her up, and spent the rest of the money easing his way into the criminal element until he'd built enough of a reputation that he could never look back.

He'd been in all sorts of sticky situations that he'd managed to bribe, bluff, or bleed his way out of. He had money, charm, and a face that was very satisfying to punch; that last was according to a lovely Triune mechanic (the female head had said it, but the male and androgyne heads had nodded in agreement), a Teluvian pleasurebot, and his father. Against all odds, he'd managed to drift through the asteroid field of a dangerous life without more than a few scrapes to his hull.

Well, he'd made it past the asteroids only to get sucked into an extrasolar gas giant with no thrusters and no escape pod. He'd humiliated and threatened Uther Pendragon's son, and had absolutely nothing to offer the admiral to save his neck. This wasn't just trouble, it was Trouble.

When the Pendragon son himself showed up, looking like a storm and demanding to be left alone with the prisoner, Gwaine revised his assessment of the situation to Disaster.

"Sir, I don't think—"

"You don't have to think, you just have to leave. _Now_."

The guard wasn't at all pleased, but she did leave.

Gwaine didn't see any weapons on Pendragon, but that didn't mean he didn't have any. They made sting guns the size of a toenail these days. Pendragon didn't pull anything out, though; he just stood there, glaring at Gwaine through the forcefield.

"Are you planning some kinda revenge here, or are you just gonna stand there and stare at me?" Gwaine prodded. "I can start stripping if you're looking for parity, but honestly I think I'd enjoy that more than you would."

Pendragon walked over to the keypad controlling the forcefield. "I'm quite sure that's true. Please keep your clothes on. No, I have an offer for you."

That was usually Gwaine's line; in fact, it sounded very similar to what he'd said to Merlin earlier. "Go on."

"If you stay here, my father will have you stranded on a prison planet for the rest of your natural life—which likely won't be very long. You won't be going to Rove or one of the other vaguely civilized penitentiaries. You'd be sent somewhere on the Gauntlet."

The Gauntlet was a ring of tiny ice planets and even tinier ice moons where the worst of Camelot's undesirables were dropped off with a couple years of canned rations and a urine purifier. Any unauthorized ships entering the zone were destroyed on sight, no questions asked. No one ever left the Gauntlet.

"That's not actually an offer," Gwaine pointed out for lack of anything better to do.

Pendragon's glare intensified. Gwaine beamed at him.

"That's what happens if you stay. If, however, you were to get out of the brig, you'd find a clear path to the shuttle bay. Full of shuttles with fantastic engines and cloaking tech. And, entirely coincidentally, the _Albion_ 's weapons and trackers are going to go offline in about twenty minutes. Just long enough for, say, an escaped shuttle to get out of range."

"That's still not an offer, but I'm much more intrigued."

"You're going to break Merlin out on the way."

So Pendragon really did have a soft spot for the cute one. Loyalty and even bashful lust had been obvious, but going against Daddy to such an extent? Well, that was bordering on adorable and vomit-inducing. He'd still help, though. Having the young Pendragon owe him would be deliciously good, plus he actually liked Merlin.

"Am I?"

"You are."

"Sounds like a win-win to me. But I'm surprised you're up for it, seeing as how you think I was gonna throw him out an airlock last time. So," he asked partly out of curiosity and partly to nettle Pendragon (this was why he couldn't stay out of trouble, he knew, but it didn't stop him), " _I_ know I'm not planning to kill your boytoy, but how do _you_ know that?"

"Because I'm coming with you, too."

"You realize that makes the prospect only mildly more appealing than the Gauntlet."

Pendragon's hand hovered over the keypad as he arched an eyebrow. "Is that a yes?"

"Smeg. Yes."

As Pendragon took down the field and Gwaine darted out before minds could change, he risked minds changing: "You're taking a big chance, trusting me."

"Merlin would want me to." Pendragon's grimace couldn't hide his fondness as he said the name. At least Gwaine could stop having to look at his face when they went into a suspiciously empty corridor.

"Well yeah, even I'm preferable to the Gauntlet. But you could've done this without me, seems like."

"Yes, obviously. Which is why that's not what I meant." They reached another door and Pendragon hesitated. "He'd want you to get a second chance. He's stupidly naive and optimistic like that."


	9. Chapter 9

Merlin's cell (or, rather, the cell Merlin was in; he had his own dedicated confinement room, but that was in the quarantine section, not the brig) was a few hallways away from Gwaine's. There was a security officer outside the door to Gwaine's cell, there would be one or two outside Merlin's—probably under orders not to let Arthur in—and there could be up to three more patrolling the brig area if they had nothing better to do.

"You really didn't think this through, did you?" Gwaine asked helpfully as Arthur stared at the door to Gwaine's cell, the very first obstacle in their path. "I mean, the shuttle and the system outages are all well and good, but don't you think actually _getting there_ ought to have been part of the plan? Not that I'm surprised, mind, it does seem like you just outsource most of your thinking to—"

"Shut up," Arthur ordered. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as when he said it to Merlin, and his dissatisfaction with it had very little to do with Gwaine's refusal to obey; Merlin rarely actually shut up, either. But Merlin was Merlin, and Gwaine was definitely not.

"—to Merlin, at least from what I've seen. Which hasn't been much, so the fact that I've already got that impression really ought to tell you something. Did they make you do anything, anything at all, to earn that captain's spot, or was Daddy's name all it took?"

Arthur couldn't hear any potential movement in the hallway over Gwaine's snark and he was getting pretty smegging tired of it. He rounded on Gwaine and shoved him back into the wall. Not roughly enough to make much noise, but it knocked the wind out of him and stopped the obnoxious flow of words.

"I have a plan," Arthur said before Gwaine could regain his breath and use it to complain. "And though it currently includes your freedom and continued existence, it really doesn't have to. If you don't shut up and let me get on with it, it _won't_."

Surprisingly, Gwaine actually stayed silent when Arthur let his arms drop. He could finally focus on tracking the sound of booted feet moving around outside, and not a moment too soon: three pairs of steps approached the door and stopped there. He heard the murmur of voices, though not clearly enough to make out the words or even identify if they were guards he knew.

At least it meant the woman he'd sent away couldn't have heard his conversation with Gwaine. He'd been fairly confident of that, but it was good to have the confirmation. There were intercoms, of course, but he'd used his override to disable the one in this room before coming down. A risk—if it had been discovered, they could trace it to him easily—but worth the added security.

The voices stopped and two of the people continued down the corridor. Probably two people left on the other side of the door, then, unless someone had come or gone while Arthur was dealing with Gwaine. At the very least, there was still one person out there and it was almost assuredly a guard.

Pulling back, Arthur turned his attention back to Gwaine.

"All right." He kept his voice down despite the muting powers of the door in the probably futile hope that it would inspire Gwaine's continued quietness. "Go stand back on the other side of the forcefield. I'm not going to turn it back on, but I need you to stay there when I go back out. I'll handle the guard or guards, just wait until I call you out."

"That's your plan."

Despite his snark, Gwaine followed the instruction and walked back into the cell portion of the room, leaning against the far wall and glaring.

"That's all _you_ need to know about my plan," Arthur corrected. The fact that it was in fact the majority of his plan wasn't relevant, especially to Gwaine. He would make it work because he had no choice, not if he wanted to save Merlin.

Arthur took a deep breath and set his shoulders, recalling the fury he'd stormed in with. Then he keyed open the door, taking care to stand out of sight to one side, and called out, "You're probably going to want to send for a medic."

"Arthur?"

Lancelot was not anywhere on the list of people Arthur had expected to answer him. He should have been, if not still debriefing the rescue mission, on leave for a few days of recovery. There was no call for him to be serving guard duty on a prisoner, running into the room with Elyan behind him in response to Arthur's summons and demanding, "What the smeg did you—"

Arthur had been ready to subdue whomever came in, but he couldn't hurt his own men. Not even for Merlin. Fortunately, they stopped just as short as he did when they saw the forcefield down and Gwaine's sulking lounge.

"Are you," Lance asked carefully, dark eyes shifting from Arthur to Gwaine and back. "Sir, are you aware that it appears you're in the middle of releasing this prisoner without orders?"

Arthur bit his lip and set his jaw. He would answer for the consequences. He loved his Knights and they loved him, but he would never ask them to commit mutiny on his say-so. In any case, his consequences weren't likely to be too severe. His father would be wrathful, but probably not bitterly angry enough to send his own son to the Gauntlet with Gwaine and Merlin. Almost a pity; he'd probably still have enough influence to see that they were sent to the same planet, and the two of them would stand a better chance with him there.

At his silence, Lance exchanged an unreadable look with Elyan, and continued just as hesitantly, "If that is what you're doing, which I'm sure is probably just a misunderstanding... We're here to help."


	10. Chapter 10

Merlin hadn't had any contact with the outside world since being tossed in the confinement unit, not even with the security officers assigned to guard him. He was sure there must be some stationed outside his door, and equally sure they'd been ordered not to let Arthur in. Maybe they would allow the other Knights, maybe not, but Uther wasn't likely to want Arthur anywhere near him.

That hurt.

Piloting had been Merlin's dream since the first time he'd caught a glimpse outside Ealdor Station's triply reinforced walls, a wide-eyed kid seeing the stars he lived among for the first time. He'd known, staring out into the field of countless stars, that he needed to be out there, as close to the untouchable infinite as he could. He'd found a position on a Camelot ship the day he turned sixteen and worked his way from there to being the youngest First Navigation Officer ever to serve on the _Albion_. He was a smegging _prodigy_. He loved his job, he loved his ship, he loved his crew. It was everything he'd ever wanted.

The thought of losing all that filled him with a terrible, cold ache of terror that felt like an airlock opening in his chest. It made him need to scream, to fight, to cry. He wanted to melt into the unfeeling metal containment of his cell and float down into the heart of the ship just so he could stay.

The thought of never seeing Arthur again cracked a hole in him so large that it eclipsed all those other feelings.

They'd been at each other's sides since the start, meeting on Merlin's very first trip outside of Ealdor's orbit. But there was more to it than that, even if Merlin's joke on Gwaine's ship was the closest either of them had ever gotten to admitting it. Even if nothing could ever come of it. Arthur was his commanding officer, the son of Admiral Pendragon, the darling scion of Camelot—there were complications, to say the least.

A series of beeps on the outer door indicated life for the first time in hours. Merlin scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over the jumpsuit he was still swimming in, and waited. Maybe they were finally bringing him some food.

Or not.

"What—Arthur, what the endless void do you think you're doing?"

His captain was there in the doorway, just a forcefield away from him now, and so was the rest of the Knights squad. And Gwaine. _Gwaine with a blaster_ , which he was currently pointing at one of the two disarmed security officers being restrained by Leon and Percival.

It was pretty obvious what Arthur thought he was doing, even before he grinned and said, "I'm saving you, Merlin. Obviously."

" _We're_ saving you," Gwaine said pointedly.

Arthur sputtered indignantly at having his perfect line ruined and turned to glare at Gwaine. "I initiated the saving. I planned and facilitated the saving. I would be saving with or without you, which makes you unnecessary to the saving and means that _I am saving Merlin_."

In any other circumstance, it would have come off as petulant—well, no, it did come off as petulant. But it was also kind of sweet, in a childish and possessive sort of way. Additionally, it was the stupidest thing Arthur had ever done. Arthur had done a lot of stupid things.

"No, you aren't." Arthur looked at Merlin, his expression betrayed, but Merlin didn't let him speak. "It's not that I don't appreciate it, really, I do. But Arthur, you can't. You just—you can't, none of you can. Not for me."

"I can."

Arthur and Merlin both glared at Gwaine for that interruption, but it didn't deter his cheeky flash of a smile. Merlin decided to ignore him, and returned his attention to Arthur.

"You have a life here. A future, a career, smegging dynasty waiting for you. You're the captain of the _Albion_ , you have responsibilities—"

"Damn my responsibilities, if they mean leaving you to this." Arthur's voice was low and solemn. His eyes locked on Merlin's with an intensity that stole his breath, made him forget that they weren't the only two in the room. "And damn you if you think I would."


	11. Chapter 11

Arthur stared out the airlock window, knowing he was being unforgivably morose but unable to shake the mood. The countless stars outside the shuttle, normally an inspiration to him with the promise of adventures and glories to come, just seemed dauntingly vast and empty. The _Albion_ drifted unseen somewhere across the impossibly distant stretch of the void, and with it everything he'd had. Everything he'd been.

Their flight from the ship had been remarkably uneventful. They hadn't encountered another soul between the cells and the shuttle bay, thanks to Owain's young, trustworthy face sending all the security officers in different directions on 'orders' from the admiral. An unforgivable lapse in protocol, that they'd been fooled by it, but that wasn't Arthur's problem anymore.

Arthur's problems currently consisted of the following:

He had two shuttles carrying eight people (himself, Merlin, Gwaine, and Percival on one; Leon, Lance, Elyan, and Owain on the other) and he was responsible for their fates. As a captain on the _Albion_ he'd been entrusted with the safety of many more lives, but this was a more personal, terrifying charge. The Knights had made their own choices, yes, but it had been his thoughtless, selfish whim that had put them in a position where they had to choose.

It was his fault they were all fugitives, which was his second problem. The Knights, and he along with them, would be considered deserters at best and traitors at worst. They'd left the _Albion_ behind with no sign of a pursuit, but Camelot's fleet was expansive. They could encounter another ship at any moment. He hadn't heard a broadcast denouncing them as criminals on stolen shuttles—and they had been monitoring for one, because Admiral Pendragon was not always concerned with consequences when angered, and though Arthur was fairly certain his father didn't want him dead, he might not have considered that as a potential outcome of flagging the shuttles.

They didn't have a particular destination in mind, just so long as they could keep a long way from the _Albion_ and the Gauntlet. Getting outside of Camelot's reach entirely wasn't feasible, not unless they made it clear to the other side of the galaxy, but eventually they'd have to figure out a plan that consisted of more than just running. Arthur was open to suggestions from anyone but Gwaine (he had no intention of letting himself or his Knights turn into pirates), but they still looked to him for leadership; so that, too, was on his list of problems.

There was one more problem on his list. It ought to've been at the bottom of his priorities—or not there at all, but he'd spent years trying to pretend it wasn't an issue and never had much success—but it always managed to find its way to the top. So despite all the really terribly urgent things he ought to be finding solutions to, such as how to keep himself and his men alive, where they were going to go, what they were going to do, and so on, he stared unseeing into the starlit cosmos and thought about Merlin.

He hadn't known what to make of the boy when they first met. Arthur had been a lieutenant then, serving under Gorlois on the _Citadel_ , and Merlin had come aboard as a brand new cadet on his first assignment. Fresh-faced, eager, awed by everything, and without the slightest lick of respect for authority or rank. Or even the faintest idea of what Camelot's command structure looked like, which was how he'd found himself insulting Arthur in the canteen in front of half the second shift crew.

That had earned him the first in what turned out to be a long line of punitive confinements. Merlin wasn't really cut out for the strict discipline of military life, but he'd also taken to piloting and navigation like he was born for it. He could plot courses in his head that even the _Citadel_ 's seasoned navigation officer needed time and a computer to calculate. It was enough to keep him from being dumped unceremoniously on the nearest habitable planet or waystation (or uninhabitable asteroid, as had been suggested more than once), but Gorlois had decided that Merlin needed firm and individual oversight to ensure he lived up to his potential. He'd also decided, with Uther's support, that Arthur needed more hands-on leadership experience.

They'd been stuck together ever since, and Arthur couldn't pinpoint exactly when that had shifted from an obligation to a choice, but it had. He'd requested Merlin's transfer when he himself had been moved to the _Albion_ , and he'd been the one to promote Merlin to his current post.

Something else had changed between them over those years that Arthur couldn't put a timeline on. He hadn't been attracted to the gangly sixteen-year-old, either sexually or romantically. But as the years went on and they got closer (and older), the age difference mattered less and less. Merlin grew from a child to a man, and Arthur noticed.

Unfortunately, Arthur's command above Merlin had solidified along with their friendship, and put a stop to any thoughts Arthur might have had of pursuing him. It wasn't that he worried he'd be taking advantage; he'd known Merlin long enough to know he couldn't be bullied into anything he didn't want to do. But there were regulations to consider that could've meant the end of both their careers if they were found out, and Arthur loathed the idea of making any lover feel like a dirty little secret. Having Merlin at his side as a friend was better than losing him completely when their relationship exploded into bitter resentment.

He knew that, but it hadn't stopped him from giving in to his weakest impulses and buying himself and Merlin a week alone. Not for romance, he'd known it still wasn't possible, but just—

The door to the corridor opened, and Merlin's reflection appeared in the window, sparkling with a thousand distant stars.


	12. Chapter 12

Merlin stumbled in the doorway, caught by the faraway look he saw reflected in the thick panes of the airlock window. It was gone in a blink, Arthur's expression schooling itself into neutrality as he turned.

"Merlin." Arthur's voice was soft, but it carried over the space between them that felt as vast as the empty distance between Ealdor and wherever the void they were now.

Not that Merlin didn't know where they were. Most of the time he couldn't _stop_ knowing where he was in the galaxy, though he'd been temporarily disoriented when locked in Gwaine's hold without even a window to track their course, then again in the _Albion_ 's cells. But once they'd reached the shuttles and Merlin had been able to stand at a console and look out across the expanse of distant lights, he'd recovered his place in the void and tracked it ever since. It was just an awareness he had, like a glittering overlay in his perception of the universe.

As long as he knew where he was, he was also capable of calculating exactly how far he was from his home without much thought; it was why he generally tried not to think about it. He didn't miss Ealdor, not really—there was nothing left for him there—but the sense of distance made him feel small and vulnerable in a way that he never did when just contemplating the reality of being a breakable collection of parts floating through an infinite vacuum with only some fallible human engineering to stop the chaos flooding in.

That was the feeling he'd seen in Arthur's features, which was why all half-dozen of the opening gambits he'd practiced for this conversation flew out of his head and instead, he found himself blurting out, "You can still go back."

It clearly wasn't what Arthur expected to hear any more than it was what Merlin expected to say. "I can... What? Merlin, what are you talking about?"

"You and the rest of the guys. Drop me and Gwaine somewhere and take the shuttles back. Your—the admiral will be livid, but if you tell them the two of us, I don't know, forced you or blackmailed you or something. He'll have to be reasonable, it's not like he'll discharge you or throw you on some prison colony like he was planning to do with me."

Arthur took an angry stride towards him but then stopped himself, fist clenching and head turning away. "He was going to send you to the Gauntlet," he told the wall.

"Oh smeg." Merlin's voice came out small; that was a hell of a lot worse than even he'd been expecting. But he put on a brave face and said, "But still, I mean, that's me. He's always hated me, you know he'd be more than willing to call the whole thing my fault and let it go at that."

"Not this time," Arthur said, still not looking at him. "Even if I wanted to go back, if I were willing to lay all the blame on you, which I'm not and it's all very clearly my fault... Haven't you ever wondered _why_ my father dislikes you so much?"

Merlin shrugged. Of course he had. He'd had entire weeks in quarantine to ponder the question, not to mention countless hours of punishment details scrubbing areas of the ship that even cleaning bots didn't bother with. But he'd never been able to come to a satisfactory conclusion, and in the end it didn't really matter. It was what it was, and what it was was Admiral Uther Pendragon having it out for him.

"I figured it was just my winning personality," he said rather than get into any of that.

It earned a startled laugh from Arthur, and his eyes back on Merlin's, though the bright blue of them was still weighed down with guilt. "That's more accurate than you might think. He thinks you're a distraction, that my association with you is stopping me from reaching my full potential."

"He's—Well, he's not exactly wrong, is he?" Arthur looked about ready to protest, so Merlin plunged onward. "There was that thing on Gawant Homeworld, and the time I melted your promotion exam. The three times."

"Not because of that. He thinks I'm smitten, Merlin. With you."

"Oh," Merlin repeated, feeling dizzily breakable the way he did when forced to fathom the unfathomable interstellar distance to his birthplace.

They looked at each other for a long stretch of silence; Merlin had to lick his lips and swallow before he could make any more words come out, and he saw Arthur following the movement then catching himself.

"Is he... Is he wrong about that?"

Arthur's whole body slumped and his face crumpled. It wasn't exactly the reaction Merlin had been hoping for, especially because he'd been pretty sure, after the moment they'd shared in his cell, that he knew the answer.

"Can we postpone this discussion?" Arthur asked quietly. "There's been a lot going on and I think... I just think we should take a bit of time, figure out what we're going to do with everyone first."

Merlin nearly broke at how tired Arthur sounded. He'd done that, selfishly trying to place this thing between them in front of all the other issues burdening Arthur's mind. Even as an outlaw, on the run from Camelot's regulations and his father's expectations, Arthur was first and foremost a leader. The Knights would look to him for what to do next, and he took that responsibility to heart. He'd made incredible sacrifices for Merlin already, and needing to hear him say why was childish insecurity on Merlin's part.

They had each other already. Hadn't Arthur just proved that nothing in the void, not even the things he valued most, could keep them apart? Arthur cared for him, and if it turned out it wasn't quite the kind of caring Merlin hoped for, it was still more than enough.


	13. Chapter 13

Gwaine was waiting for Merlin in the corridor when he left Pendragon to brood in the dark like the responsible and mature captain he was. Before Merlin turned for the door, he'd been waiting a lot closer than the corridor—and not for Merlin to leave, either. Somehow Gwaine had forgotten what an uptight, martyred moron Arthur was, so he'd been hoping for a personal peep show. Merlin was cute and Arthur was a complete smeghead, but an attractive one. He could get into watching them finally give in to the sexual tension that was very, very obviously built up between them.

He'd only been around them for part of a day and he couldn't take it anymore, he had no idea how the rest of their crew could stand it. Void, how did _Arthur_ stand it? If Gwaine had a pretty young thing like Merlin throwing himself at him... Well. He'd probably have to decline politely, because Merlin seemed like the sweet sort who would want commitment and love and all the other bits Gwaine had no interest in.

But just because Gwaine himself wasn't designed for the squishy feelings, it didn't mean he didn't know them when he saw them. Merlin was stupid for his captain, and Pendragon's reciprocation was neither an issue nor a question. They just needed a shove.

Luckily for them, Gwaine happened to be bored and _extremely_ good at shoving.

So when Merlin wandered out of the airlock, looking like a Gedrefian horned puppy that had been lost, kicked, drowned, then kicked again, but still wanted to put on a brave face just in case it ran into anyone willing to cuddle it in spite of its uncontrollably venomous head spike, Gwaine knew exactly what he had to do.

Slinging an arm around Merlin's neck, Gwaine said, overly loud, "You've had a rough day, you dear thing. Let me help you relax, make you feel better."

Merlin tensed in his grasp but didn't pull away, either too polite or too worn out to really object. That didn't matter. What mattered was that when Gwaine looked back over their combined shoulders, Pendragon was glaring at him through the small viewing window. Gwaine winked, turned away from him, and led Merlin off to the galley. He pretended not to hear the door sliding open behind them.

Thing was, Gwaine had taken it upon himself to investigate the shuttle thoroughly during the first hour or two they'd been on the lam. He knew, therefore, that they had enough food for the four of them to survive about three months without restocking. Maybe two and a half, the big guy looked like he could pack it away, but they shouldn't need to cut it that close. Besides, they'd need fuel before that, probably within a month at the rate they were burning it. The life support system was in top shape.

All in all, they were well stocked on the basic necessities.

Unless clothing was considered a basic necessity. Gwaine didn't think it was, generally speaking, but he knew other people did. It was why he'd been able to so generously offer Merlin the tragically oversized jumpsuit he still wore. Because none of Camelot's brightest young minds had thought to bring Merlin his own clothes, or even a spare Camelot uniform of any size. They'd been in something of a rush, he understood that, but it really only would have taken a bit of foresight. The Camelot clothes would stand out wherever they went.

Still, Gwaine felt a tiny bit guilty using it against Merlin, who couldn't be blamed for it. Not guilty enough to stop him, of course; he was doing it for Merlin's own good, in the end. By the time they reached the tiny space that passed for a kitchen, his plan solidified. The big guy was manning the slightly less tiny bridge and keeping in contact with the other shuttle and Pendragon was still following the two of them, waiting just around a corner.

"We're friends, right?" Gwaine asked Merlin.

"Um. No?" Despite sounding apologetic, there was a crack of anger in Merlin's voice. "I'm glad you're not going to die alone and starving on an icy prison planet. That's about the current extent of my charitable feelings."

Gwaine had to admit that was fair. "All right. I can understand that. Just keep in mind that I'm helping you."

"Helping me with—What the void!"

Having a limited amount of time in which to act before one or both of the other men could stop him, Gwaine rejoiced upon finding a pod of green fluoric toffee. Cracking it open and flinging the resulting sticky mess at Merlin took only a moment; it was far too late by the time Pendragon lunged in and punched Gwaine away from his definitely-not-boytoy-their-relationship-was-strictly-professional.

Gwaine had been prepared for much more violence, and deemed it worth it for the many levels of entertainment, but Pendragon ignored him once he was out of immediate reach, spinning back to Merlin. The acidic candy clung to the slope of his shoulders and dripped slowly down his chest and legs. Gwaine mentally patted himself on the back for his aim.

"Are you all right? Is it—"

"Don't touch me!" Merlin's impressively mild hysteria stopped Pendragon in his tracks. "I mean, don't—don't touch it. It'll burn your skin."

"Smeg! Can it get through the clothes?"

"Yes," Merlin said tightly.

"Then take them off! What are you waiting for?"

It took all Gwaine had not to either snicker or give himself a self-congratulatory salute at Pendragon's words. He'd expected Merlin to strip, but he never could have anticipated Pendragon actually _demanding_ it. But Merlin just turned bright red and mumbled something, shifting uncomfortably as the acid started to thin the fabric.

Pendragon frowned at his hesitation. "What?"

"I'm not wearing anything under this."

Pendragon spun around to give him some semblance of privacy. His blush burned darker than Merlin's, Gwaine was delighted to find.


	14. Chapter 14

Arthur tried not to look as Merlin stripped out of the contaminated jumpsuit. He'd seen Merlin naked before—recently, even—but he'd able been to react to the circumstances instead of Merlin's body.

As Gwaine's prisoners, he'd had the distraction of their plight and plotting out all the ways he could murder Merlin. A good thing, too, since he wouldn't have been able to hide his reaction if anger and fear hadn't prevented him from really taking in and appreciating the sight. Merlin, pale skin on display, long limbs spread right in front of Arthur—imagery like that featured prominently in his guiltiest fantasies, nights he spent alone in his quarters with his eyes closed and his hand on himself. He didn't give in to that urge often; it made it very hard to look Merlin in the eye the next day.

Things had gotten tenser on the bridge with the Knights, with Arthur in a better mood and Merlin still bare. Then he'd said—well, _Gwaine_ had said. And Gwaine was just as much to blame for the current situation, Merlin undressing himself mere breaths away from Arthur. Much as he wanted to focus on being angry over that, and maybe hit the scavenger a few more times for good measure, he just couldn't ignore a _naked Merlin_.

Especially after the conversation they'd had.

So he gave in. He looked.

Merlin was safely clear of the suit and had dumped it in a pile that shifted and fell as the acid wore its way through layers of fabric. Probably it would burn itself out before getting to the floor.; there definitely hadn't been enough to eat through inches of solid metal and cause damage to the ship. But even if there had, Arthur wouldn't have been able to focus on it at the moment.

Everything about Merlin ought to have been awkward. His ears were too big, his smile too wide. Bare, his body was the same. Square shoulders didn't suit his lanky frame, which was far too pale despite the artificial sunlight that even the small shuttle's life support system provided. Curls of dark hair spread across his chest without covering the blush that went all the way down—

Arthur had to drag his eyes up from that lower patch of hair, but he hadn't missed a glimpse of what was there, or how it twitched and started to flush as pink as the rest of Merlin. Instead of looking strange, he just looked like Merlin. Like everything Arthur wanted.

No. He had self control. Just because there was an attraction there, more than an attraction, that was just shy of being mutually acknowledged, didn't give him the right to take advantage of the situation. Especially not when he'd been the one who needed more time. As always seemed to be the case, there were more pressing matters.

"Are you all right?"

Merlin nodded. Though his face was still painted crimson, he met Arthur's eyes and set his jaw, and that was when Arthur realized he wasn't making any move to cover himself. He didn't move to stand behind one of the stools or the counter, he didn't even have his hands up in front of himself. That thought dropped his eyes down again without his permission, and by the time he clawed his way back to Merlin's face there was a smirk on it.

"I'm doing just fine, Captain Pendragon. How're you doing?"

It was ridiculous enough, _them_ enough, to transform the moment into something less charged. Arthur laughed, grateful not to have ruined things with his momentary descent into creepiness, and patted Merlin on the shoulder.

"I'm fantastic, Merlin," he said. "Very warm."

"Oh, are you?"

"Extremely. Utterly comfortable all around, really."

"Would you just shag already!" Gwaine yelled.

Arthur had mostly forgotten about him, and from the way Merlin jumped and hurried to cover his privates, he had too. They both looked over; Gwaine hadn't bothered to get up from where Arthur's punch had landed him on the floor, and in fact managed to make lounging there look like exactly where he wanted to be.

"Do you want his clothes?" Arthur offered after a moment's thought. "Probably fit you better than the last ones."

"Yeah, but void knows where they've been. And I think he'd like that too much."

Judging by Gwaine's grin, and the fact that he'd said as much to Arthur before, that was bound to be true.

"If I can't find any spares," Merlin started.

Gwaine interrupted with a far too gleeful, "You won't!" and dodged the half-hearted kick Merlin aimed his way. Any more serious attempt would've exposed him again.

"Then I'll cut some holes in a pillowcase or something until we can find something better. Captain." He saluted, his other hand still protecting his modesty, then spun on his heel and showed off his ass all the way down the corridor.

Arthur watched it bounce until it was out of sight, then turned back to Gwaine.

"You're welcome," he told Arthur with a cheeky grin.


	15. Chapter 15

Arthur Pendragon's version of gratitude left a lot to be desired. Gwaine found himself with one wrist in an electromag shackle that had been fastened to the side of a chair in the bridge with the big fella keeping an eye alternately on him and on the nav readouts.

"Look. Percival, right?"

He didn't look up from the console.

"Your captain's a little heated, and sometimes I get over excited, but you know I'm only trying to help. Right?"

A look—a raised eyebrow, even—but no other reaction. Why did he keep getting the strong, silent types as guards? His charms worked much better when he had someone to play off of. Bullshitting into the void was—okay, still fun, but not nearly as effective.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, which I know I'm not, but it seems to me this whole mess could've been avoided if not for your CO and Merlin making the googly eyes at each other without doing anything about it."

Percival's skepticism didn't ease, but he swivelled his chair around to face Gwaine fully. "I'm listening," he said, which meant pretty much meant Gwaine had already won.

But he kept going, for appearance's sake. And because he liked the sound of his own voice; he knew his flaws and wasn't ashamed.

"When I rescued them from their inevitable deaths in the stranded shuttle,"—Percival rolled his eyes but didn't object to Gwaine's revisionism—"I overheard some things. It was all deeply private and personal, of course, but the bottom line is that they wouldn't have wound up adrift if they'd been boning already."

Percival blinked slowly. "Pretending for a moment that I believe you, or that it would be any of our business if I did, how would that help our current situation?"

"It wouldn't have happened!" Gwaine tried to throw his hands up in the air for emphasis, but only his left hand made it; the other stuck fast in the shackle he'd managed to forget momentarily.

"But it did. That's not going to change, and we need to move forward from here. We're in an uncertain, unsafe position and trying to find a way out of it. Arthur is our captain, and Leon might technically be his second in command, but we all know he relies on Merlin more than anyone else."

Despite the gentle earnestness of Percival's voice, Gwaine got the distinct impression he was being scolded. Worse still, as the man leaned forward and met his eyes, he thought maybe he deserved it.

"It's not just that you're distracting them," he went on. "You could've hurt Merlin."

Gwaine muttered, "It was just fluoric toffee," but he had to look away to do it. They both knew it was a weak defense. To his credit, Percival didn't push once he'd made his point. He just nodded and turned back to his console.

Gwaine let that sit for a minute, but he wasn't going to feel too bad about it. Merlin hadn't been hurt, after all he'd actually seemed pretty chipper about the whole thing. But Merlin was only slightly more likely than Pendragon to let him out of his bondage, which made Percival his best chance. It was time to take a shot.

"So, what do you wanna do with your life now that you're a fugitive from one of the most powerful fleets in the galaxy? Thought about your plans at all?"

"I'm not going to work for you," Percival said, back to not looking. "Neither is anyone else. We follow Arthur."

Gwaine let out a frustrated snort. "I don't see why."

With a smile that was both mysterious and indulgent, Percival glanced over and said, "You could try it for yourself and find out."

"Not a chance, I'm not working for Camelot."

"Neither are we."

Gwaine might not've been the most empathetic guy around, but he wasn't a total smeghead, either. Percival's matter-of-fact statement had a note of melancholy behind it, and Gwaine could remember his own moments of loss and directionlessness well enough that it kept him up some nights. But that had been about his family life going supernova, not the loss of a job.

"Come on," he cajoled, "you can't've been planning to stay there the rest of your life. You don't have some deep, secret dream?"

Percival's soft hum was non-committal. "Do you?"

"Nah. Just more of the same, I guess. I never thought I'd live past twenty, what did I need dreams for?"

"Sounds like you've got nothing to lose by sticking with us for a while."

Looking around the tiny shuttle's tiny bridge, Gwaine tugged thoughtfully at his shackle. It didn't give. Most of his life had been guided by having nothing to lose and everything to gain, so why should this be any different?

"All right," he declared, "you've won me over. Give me a position, show me where the ammunition is. I'll play outlaws with Pendragon, at least until something better comes along."


	16. Chapter 16

Looking at the reflection of his makeshift garment, Merlin couldn't decide if he found it hilarious or mortifying. The pale blue bedsheet made his skin look pasty, especially his mostly uncovered shoulders and skinny legs sticking out from what could really only be called a skirt. He'd searched through the entire bunk room and hadn't been able to find any pins, clips, or anything else at all useful for keeping the sheet up and where it was supposed to go, so he'd had to sacrifice a foot of length from each end of the sheet to tying a knot where they met around his waist.

It was better than being naked, probably—except for the way the Arthur had looked at him when he was naked. That had been a very good look. It was a look that reassured Merlin, even more than their conversation had, that Arthur really did find him attractive. He knew he wasn't as fit as most of Camelot's officers, but Arthur had now seen—had very deliberately looked at—everything under the uniform and had seemed pleased by it.

Merlin wouldn't mind seeing more of that look. But Arthur had asked for time, and Merlin was going to give it to him. Even if it meant looking like an idiot for as long as it took them to procure him actual clothes. It wasn't like that was anything new, really. And Arthur wanted him anyway. Knowing that, he could live with wearing even the most unflattering of sheets until they got him something better, though it was likely to be a long time.

Unless his internal three-dimensional map and effortless calculations were wrong (which they never were, no matter what Arthur said when he was grumpy), the nearest station was Everwick: run and overrun by Camelot's fleet. They had enough fuel to go further than that, though, at least to Wayfarers' Wander, which promoted itself as a neutral outpost. He'd never had occasion to test that assertion before, but they'd find out the truth of it soon enough.

He should probably tell Arthur that they were on course to the Wander, come to think of it. He'd set it in mostly on instinct while Arthur was having his moral crisis. Since Arthur hadn't asked, it probably meant he trusted Merlin to do exactly what Merlin had done; that, or he was on the bridge right now trying to plot a course somewhere.

Since that would be disastrous, and seemed to be the more likely scenario, Merlin checked himself over once more—still ridiculous—and left for the bridge.

Arthur wasn't there after all, but Percival and Gwaine were. So was Leon, by way of a viewscreen displaying the bridge of the other shuttle. He was in the middle of saying something, but the words died off when he caught sight of Merlin and he snorted out a laugh before he could stop it. Leon getting his giggles under control didn't make much difference, since Percival and Gwaine had turned to see the source of his distraction and Gwaine's guffaws could probably be heard back on the _Albion_.

Merlin jabbed a finger in his direction. "This is your fault," he reminded him, but he was helpless against the grin that broke out in answer to Gwaine's mirth. That broke Leon's facade, and soon Percival joined in and all four of them were cackling like idiots.

It was nice, even if it was at his expense. They all needed the catharsis. Their situation was uncertain at best, terrifying at worst, and Merlin would never forget that they'd done it for his sake. Well, the Knights had. Gwaine, he suspected, never did anything that wasn't for Gwaine's sake. Which was probably why he was magged to a chair. Had Arthur done that? He must have, because it definitely wasn't Percival's style.

Using his free hand to wipe tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes, Gwaine said, "It is, and I've never been prouder to be blamed for anything in my life. What'd Princess have to say about it?"

Merlin frowned, and not just at the nickname. "I haven't seen him. I thought he'd be here, actually?"

Percival shook his head, and Gwaine added, "Not since he made sure I was comfortable," and tugged on his shackled arm; it didn't move.

"I was trying to talk to him," Leon said. "They told me he was with you and couldn't be interrupted." Leon's eyes moved in a way that probably meant he was looking Merlin and his sheet outfit over again, then widened. "Oh. Did Arthur finally—"

"No!" Merlin interrupted, feeling his cheeks heat. Whatever Leon had been about to ask about Arthur and Merlin and Merlin wearing a sheet, and Merlin had it narrowed down to a very select number of possibilities, the answer was no.

(Unless it was about Arthur staring at him naked. That was a yes, and a yes that Merlin was very happy to remember.)

"Thank you!" Gwaine yelled over Merlin's protest. "Mountain of Man over here"—he jerked his head at Percival—"refuses to talk about it. But those two idiots need to get it together and shag, am I right?"

As Leon turned as red as Merlin felt, Percival smacked Gwaine in the arm. Gently, from the look of it, but Gwaine flinched dramatically anyway.

"Leave them be," said Percival.

"Yeah, you've done enough, thanks," Merlin told him with a scowl that still couldn't completely cover the bit of smile hiding beneath. "Leon, I'll go find Arthur for you."

He turned to do just that, and succeeded far more quickly than he expected: he ran straight into Arthur before he'd even finished spinning around. Warm, confident hands closed around his shoulders to keep him from falling at the surprising impact, though they shook with the force of Arthur's laughter.

"Merlin," he gasped out, sounding like the effort pained him. "What the smeg are you wearing? You look like a complete idiot!"


	17. Chapter 17

Wayfarer's Wander was unfamiliar territory for Arthur, though not entirely unknown. He'd been a few times as a child when he live with his father on the _Albion_ , too young to even have his own quarters, much less a commission in Camelot's fleet. Their last stop there had been years before Arthur left for academy, and something had happened to put his father into a rage the likes of which Arthur had rarely seen. He never did find out the cause.

He assumed the only reason his father was less apoplectic than that at the moment was that he'd had a few hours to burn through the worst of it. Even so, his countenance snarled dangerously over the flickering communications link.

"This is your last chance, Arthur. I'll have a team waiting for you at Wayfarer's Wander. Surrender yourself quietly and I can fix this."

"And if I don't? The Wander is neutral territory—"

"The Wander is a cesspit, not a safe haven. Alator deals with any faction, but he doesn't care about protecting anyone who sets foot inside. There are fights daily; there are deaths."

His father leaned in, his ruddy face large and menacing in the projection. "No one would even notice if an orphaned station rat got himself stabbed and thrown out into the vacuum."

Every inch of Arthur's skin prickled with the static of fear. "You wouldn't," he started to say, but he knew it wasn't true. His father had been ready to send Merlin to the Gauntlet. Assassination was no less heartless.

"I would," his father confirmed coldly. "And if you think you can avoid it by skipping the Wander, think again. There's nowhere else for you to restock that's not within my reach. Defy me and I will track you down.

"I want you back on the _Albion_ and back to your senses, but if it comes down to it, I'd rather send you to the void myself than let the galaxy see how far you've fallen."

The feed cut to blackness and Arthur was left alone in the dark. He'd been planning to follow Merlin when his holocomm buzzed the alert of an incoming call and he'd ducked into an empty hallway to take it. It could only have been his father, and of course it was.

He knew it wasn't a bluff. If he didn't give in to his father's demands, he was effectively sentencing everyone on both shuttles to death. If he told them his plans, they'd try to stop him and come up with a solution, and that would just get them all killed.

Leon, his oldest friend; Percival, the gentlest of them all; Elyan, quick and clever; Lance, loyal to a fault; Owain, so young and eager. Gwaine, who was a disaster of a human being but probably didn't deserve to die for it.

Merlin.

 _Merlin._

So when he got to the bridge and found Merlin looking ridiculous and happy, he didn't say anything.

And days later, when they got to the Wander and his makeshift crew rejoiced at not seeing the _Albion_ , he still didn't say anything.

His father and a security team were waiting as soon as they docked, in plain clothes and ostensibly unarmed, but Arthur knew Camelot had weapons they could get past the scanners . He wasn't willing to bet on whether they'd brought any with them.

He turned to his Knights and Gwaine, all wary at the sight, and said, "It's okay. They're not here for you."

Of course it was Merlin who stepped forward, questioning him as always. "What are you doing?"

Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin's shoulders, his hands around the back of Merlin's head. "I'm sorry," he said as he tried to memorize that face, so perfect even in fear and confusion. "I love you. I was a coward not to show you the way I should've, but I can do this."

For all that Merlin reciprocated—and he did, passionately; desperately—the kiss still felt like a stolen thing, one Arthur had no right to but claimed anyway. Merlin clung to him just as helplessly as he clung to Merlin, trying to make this one moment of intimacy worth the years of longing leading up to it. The years of longing that were sure to follow.

It would never be enough, but it was all they would have.

"Enough," Uther growled.

Rough hands pulled them apart, too many to be just Uther, and Arthur's men tensed for a fight; even Gwaine looked ready to launch himself into a brawl.

"Stand down," he ordered them, voice coming out more ragged than he'd expected. "Resupply and get out of here. Leave Camelot space. You won't be pursued."

He glared at Uther as he said it. Uther scowled, but nodded reluctantly.

"You planned this."

There were tears in Merlin's eyes that Arthur couldn't answer. He looked at the man who would have to lead them in his stead. "Keep them safe, Leon."

He let Uther's men start to lead him away, but looked back at the sound of a scuffle. Merlin fought to free himself from Percival's restraining hold, ignoring whatever Lance and Leon were trying to tell him. He turned away. They would look out for each other. They'd be all right.

As they rounded a junction, they found a group in Wayfarer purple blocking the way. At the head, a woman with medallions of command pinned to her shoulders.

"Uther," she greeted, "Arthur. I'm afraid I can't let you leave without insisting you join me for dinner."

A glance at Uther showed him frozen in place; he recognized her, though Arthur did not.

"Well, it can't possibly be worse than my current plans," Arthur said when the silence stretched out. "But who are you, exactly?"

She smiled at him, slow and not exactly kind. "Of course, where are my manners. I'm the Commissioner of Wayfarer's Wander. You may have been familiar with my predecessor, Alator. Morgana Pendragon, at your service."


	18. Chapter 18

When he'd seen Papa Pendragon and his goon squad, Gwaine's thoughts had flashed through a lot of unpleasant possibilities. First and foremost, he expected someone to try and sell him out.

Aside from his little heart-to-heart with Mount Perce, he hadn't given any of them a reason to like him, much less risk their necks for him. Looking out for himself and only himself kept him going when he was alone and protected him among the like-minded mercenaries of his scavenger crew, but here was a group of men willing to throw away their entire lives when one of their number needed help.

Knowing that, he supposed it wasn't so surprising after all that Pendragon Junior turned himself over, instead. Gwaine didn't much go for the whole self-sacrifice bit—went against his whole philosophy, really—but even he could admit that it was a brassy move on Pendragon's... on Arthur's part.

Arthur didn't struggle when his father's men grabbed him from what was probably his first and last liplock with Merlin, but Merlin had enough fight in him for both of them. Perce seemed to be having a difficult time holding him back without hurting him or pulling off his creative wardrobe.

Two of the guys from the other shuttle tried talking him down, one of them standing between Merlin and the sight of Arthur's vanishing back. Like that would make a difference. Merlin wasn't an ultraviolet vine toad; Gwaine was pretty sure he had a decent understanding of object permanence, even if Gwaine himself wasn't sure about Arthur's permanence in Uther's custody.

He didn't think Camelot's angry old dragon would kill off his only son, but the man could be unpredictable and violent, and so far no one had called him to account for anything he'd done.

Not successfully, at least. Most people who'd tried were drifting in frozen pieces among the asteroid fields of Avalon, though there were plenty scattered other places around the galaxy.

That memory, one that Gwaine tried his hardest to push away during his waking hours, was what decided him.

"Merlin. Merlin! Stop it, listen—"

Gwaine shoved in next to the curly haired one, cutting off the reassurances that Merlin clearly wasn't listening to. Merlin's sheet had slipped down around his arms, trapping him a little more firmly in Perce's grip, but that didn't stop him from trying to throw himself forward to follow his disappeared captain.

"Hey, pretty boy." Gwaine gripped the side of Merlin's head and shook it, rattling him into stillness at last. "If you're done with the holostar dramatics, we can try something actually useful to rescue your poor romantic lead in peril."

Merlin's eyes, wet and bluer than ever against his red-cheeked anger, focused in on Gwaine. "I will go through you," he vowed. "If this is a ploy, if you try anything to benefit yourself at Arthur's expense—"

"Understood." He would've rolled his eyes, because that really wasn't cutting back on the melodrama, except that he believed Merlin would make good on the threat. If he had been planning something that might've made him reconsider, but he wasn't stupid enough in the first place to think it was a good idea to double-cross a couple of pining morons who were willing to go to the Gauntlet for each other.

"Look, you recently liberated Camelot types might be new to this kind of satellite of crime and villainy, but the Wander is as close to a home station as I get. I've got some people here who owe me favors, and lucky for you, one of them's the boss."

Satisfied that Merlin wasn't going to run right at the moment, Perce let go of him and even fixed up his sheet wrap so it wasn't falling down anymore. Merlin ignored him to stare hard at Gwaine.

"You'd call them in for Arthur?"

Gwaine's instinctively flippant answer died on his tongue and he shrugged, looking away. He couldn't meet Merlin's searching gaze without losing his nerve about being honest.

"For him, no. But for all of you, I guess I would. I still think you're all crazier than a bunch of vacuumheads, but it seems like Perce talked me into joining your group madness. I'm even passingly fond of a couple of you. Not Arthur, but we should get him back anyway."

A hand on his shoulder surprised him; Perce, of course, beaming at him. Even Merlin was smiling, though it had a much sharper edge to it than his usual carefree grin.

"Let's go, then."

Gwaine raised his eyebrows at curly-Leon, who Arthur had left ostensibly in charge, and he nodded with an amused but also resigned look on his face.

He led them through the Wander at a run, because time was ticking down if they were going to have a chance at stopping Pendragon's departure. Perce, not at all shockingly, was pretty good at forging a path as Gwaine yelled directions to him.

Alator's "office" took up the central level of the outpost, the most defensible section with extra shielding and escape pods that weren't meant to be common knowledge down just about every hallway. If all else failed, Gwaine figured he could get at least some of them out in those.

But first they had to be allowed through the heavily guarded doors.

It had been a bit since he last made it to the Wander, but the weapons depot near one of the secure hatches was older than he was, and he'd eat his own hair if it wasn't still there. Sure enough, the dreadful black and chrome sign greeted him when they rounded the last corner and he pushed to the front of the group, leaning onto the counter to catch his breath for all of two seconds before flashing his most impressive smile at the unimpressed shopkeeper.

"Hey, beautiful. Did you miss me?"

"No. What do you want, Gwaine?"

"Gwen. Princess. Wonder of the stars." He dropped the smile. "I'm here to collect."


	19. Chapter 19

Growing up on the Wayfarers' Wander gave a person a certain outlook on life that was unique in the galaxy. Morgana had met hundreds if not thousands of people in her time on the outpost, even conversed with many of them, and she'd never encountered anyone who viewed life the same way she and the other Wayfarers did.

The people she lived among viewed morality as a more flexible spectrum than the forces of Camelot or Tir-Mor that passed through, but unlike the scavengers and pirates who also passed through, they knew there was more to life than self-preservation and wealth. There was community, and nothing was more important than that.

The Wander was founded by a group of refugees sick of constant interstellar war, and what started as a sixty capacity ferry carrying eighty people grew as others joined them, ships from all over the galaxy. The first few vessels were jury-rigged to the original ferry, the _Catha_. But after that, the Wayfarers built out a proper station with the fused group of ships remaining at its center, acting as its heart.

The Wander survived wars and sieges and kept its pride and its neutrality through them all, adhering to one purpose over all else.

The Wander took care of its own. The Wander was family.

That suited Morgana just fine, because she'd learned over the years that her own blood family left quite a lot to be desired.

She hadn't actually been born on the Wander. She was the child of the wife of a Camelot officer, Vivienne, who lived one of their colonized planets while her husband Gorlois roamed the void. When Gorlois was killed in battle, with Vivienne already dead of a blood plague, Uther Pendragon himself came for Morgana.

Despite only being a child of five, Morgana knew about Uther; everyone in Camelot knew about Uther. Even back then he was the pride of the fleet, an inspiration to all. When he told her that he'd promised her father that he'd take care of her, of course she'd thought he meant it.

"The _Albion_ is no place for a child, dear Morgana," was his excuse for leaving her at the Wander instead, in the care of a stranger. Though she'd come to love Alator as the most genuine father she had, his perpetual scowl had scared her when she was so small and alone. Now she knew it was the only thing, other than her very existence, that she could thank Uther for.

He visited, yes, but often he brought with him a boy even younger than Morgana, his own son who she quickly understood did have a place on the _Albion_. Much as she'd come to love the Wander, she grew bitter at having been so callously discarded by a man she looked up to even before she learned that Gorlois was not her true father.

Some worried that Morgana, Camelot-born, wouldn't settle in among the Wayfarers. That she'd be too soft, or too sympathetic to her supposed father's loyalties. But Alator raised her well, and he told her the truth of her parentage when she was of age. By the time he died, even though Morgana had never held an official title in the Wander, no one doubted her place as his heir.

Apparently news of her new position hadn't reached Uther, or he wouldn't have dared to set foot on the Wander. He hadn't been back since their bitter fight when Morgana told him she knew the truth and wanted to be recognized. Whatever was going on with the child he'd decided he wanted—his son, her brother—must have been serious to draw him back to the outpost.

Her brother. Arthur. He'd grown so much since she last saw him; he'd been so young, it was little wonder he didn't seem to remember her. He'd had his share of promotions since then, too, was the new rising star of Camelot just as his father had been. He was an exceptionally young captain, but he hadn't earned it just on Uther's name.

She'd kept track of him, partly out of jealousy and partly because he was family, and Wayfarers didn't turn their back on family until they'd earned it. Uther had, but she would give Arthur his own chance.

Judging by his reaction when she introduced herself and the way he kept staring at her, broken only by unanswered questioning looks at Uther, he had no idea who she was. Their father had never told him about her. It shouldn't have stung—she knew what sort of man Uther was—but it did. She wished briefly for Alator's calming presence, the manner he had of speaking the truth with bluntness and affection in equal measures, and mourning him hurt much more deeply than Uther's continued rejection of her.

Alator couldn't be there to guide her anymore, but she knew what he'd say if he could: She wanted this confrontation enough to seek it out, and she couldn't flee from it now or else everyone in the Wander would think less of her. Did she want them to think her weak and forgiving of Camelot after all?

She did not.

She'd engineered this meeting when she got news that Uther was trying to dock on her outpost under an assumed name. She could have refused him, but instead she let him aboard and had her people pretend they didn't know who he was. She let him and Arthur meet and resolve their business before swooping down on the two of them.

She would hold her head high and stand in judgment of the two Pendragon men who had put themselves at her mercy by coming to her territory.

She was the Commissioner of the Wayfarers' Wander, and if she decided that she wanted to shove her father into an escape pod to let the ultimate neutrality of the void do with him as it would, no one would stop her.

The Wander protected its own.


	20. Chapter 20

Merlin should never have let Gwaine get his hopes up. He was a criminal—and never mind that Merlin was, now, too. Merlin had the Knights, who would do anything for him, and he for them. They'd proved that when they risked the wrath of mighty Camelot, and of famed and feared Admiral Uther Pendragon particularly, to break him out. Even when they had no one else, they had each other.

Once he'd had the slight bit of time and space to reflect, he knew they others hadn't given up on Arthur as easily as he'd accused them of. There was no way they'd leave him like that, but they needed a plan and Merlin throwing himself after the security team would only hurt their chances. He blamed his recklessness on the shock of losing Arthur and refused to think about the other shock of that moment, because he couldn't afford to be heartbroken yet; Arthur needed him.

When everything was said and done, he owed the Knights an apology or five. They were good, honorable men. They were family. He trusted them more than he'd shown, when he was in his right mind.

Gwaine didn't seem to have that with anyone. He'd left his crew in _Albion's_ cells without a second thought, the men who'd lived on his (junkheap of a) ship for who even knew how long and trusted him as their captain, at least to whatever extent scavengers trusted anyone. The woman he'd led them to, who was supposed to be the first step on the path to getting Arthur back from his father's clutches, looked like she'd rather test her wares on Gwaine than do anything for him.

Still not convinced that Gwaine had been sincere, Merlin ran through scenarios with half his concentration as he listened to them bargaining back and forth. If Gwaine couldn't call in his favor, or if he really was double crossing them, they were losing precious time. If Uther got Arthur of the Wander, their chances of a safe recovery diminished.

They didn't vanish, though. Uther and his men must have come in a smaller ship than the _Albion_ , and their lack of uniform meant they were trying to go undetected. There was every chance they were in a shuttle the size the Knights had taken, or maybe a class larger. Two shuttles manned by the squad Arthur trained personally might be able to disable it. And no matter who Uther had at the helm, Merlin could track them.

He could track Gwaine, too, even if they had to leave him on the outpost while they dealt with the consequences of a betrayal.

"You owe me," Gwaine argued, not got the first time.

"Even if I did, and I'm not saying I do, I'd be returning the favor by not killing you or even demanding payment for that overcoiled blaster you stole."

"Your old man wanted me to test it for him!"

"Yeah, for a couple days. Three months ago."

Gwaine scrubbed a hand through his hair, turning his back on Gwen. For a moment, Merlin feared that was the end of his efforts. But he spun back and put his hands on the counter again, leaning in.

"One four nine alpha two three eight," he recited. Gwen's posture straightened. "That account has everything I own. Okay, half of—a third of what I own, probably," he admitted in the face of her skepticism. "Pull it up right now and I'll authorize the transfer. You can have it all if you get me in to see Alator."

That brought Merlin's worst-case scenarios crashing to a halt. True, Gwaine could still have planned something self-serving for when they got to the man in charge, but he was offering a big ante for the privilege. And Percival trusted him. Maybe Gwaine would pull through, after all.

Taking out a data pad, Gwen keyed in the account ID and let out a low whistle. She set it down, but hesitated pushing it across to Gwaine. "I can get you in," she said, finger tapping one corner of the pad, "but it won't be to see Alator. He's dead."

"Smeg. What happened?"

"Died peacefully in his sleep." Gwen favored him with a sharp smile that could've meant a hundred things; without context, Merlin had no way to interpret it.

"So who's commissioner now?"

Gwen's smile didn't falter. "Guess."

"No." Gwaine pushed off the counter and spun again, pacing like a lost child. "Smeg. Gwen, this is bad. Do you have any idea how bad this is?"

"With that lot behind you, looking like you promised them their very own planet?" Gwen gestured at the gathered Knights, her hand faltering when she had to decide whether to include Merlin or not. "I've got some, yeah. How dead are you if you don't follow through?"

"Not dead," Merlin said before Gwaine could answer. They both looked at him in surprise, so he grinned at them. He was sure he looked like a total maniac. "Just suffering. Very badly. For a very long time. But only if it's his fault he can't deliver," he added cheerfully. It didn't appear to reassure Gwaine at all.

"Alator promised me a favor," he said to Gwen beseechingly. "After the thing with the—you know, the thing. He owed me big for that, said he'd do anything in his power. Morgana has to honor that, doesn't she?"

Dragging her eyes away from reassessing Merlin, Gwen turned to Gwaine and shrugged. "She might. She might not. Only way to find out is to ask her."

"Smeg," Gwaine repeated. He looked at her, then at Merlin, and his face smoothed out of its pinched worry. "Your call, boss. I'm likely to die regardless, so it doesn't make a difference to me. Morgana might help us or she might slaughter us. Either way, she'll also ruin Uther's day. But unless you're very convincing, she'll do it in a way that kills your man, too."


	21. Chapter 21

Uther hadn't said a word since Commissioner Morgana Pendragon interrupted his attempt to abduct Arthur. No amount of pointed looks from Arthur, and there had been many, got him any answers from his father about who this woman was and what her relationship was to them. He'd always been told that there were no other Pendragons.

While the galaxy was a big enough place that he'd allow the coincidence of a long-lost cousin, the fact that Uther clearly knew her blew that theory right out the airlock.

As the shock faded away, though, as they trailed behind Commissioner Pentagon and her team, Arthur seethed with rage. Uther's unraveling lies barely contributed to the simmering anger. Nearly all of that could be traced back to being ripped from Merlin's arms under threat of the murder of the man he loved. Some was directed inwardly, for taking until that moment to act on their mutual feelings. But the new revelation certainly helped it reach a boiling point.

He held his tongue. For all Uther's failings as a father—which Arthur was done denying—he'd raised Arthur for command. For strategy. He wouldn't do himself any favors by confronting Uther while the commissioner was still an unknown. He'd bide his time, track the situation. See if he could turn it to his advantage to get back to Merlin and the rest of his crew.

When they arrived at their destination, after being led through what felt like most of the station, Arthur was surprised to find that dinner hadn't been the vaguely menacing euphemism he'd taken it for. The room looked a lot like the _Albion's_ mess hall in both size and design. Unlike the _Albion's_ , which was constantly full of an array of crew on rotating shifts, the hall's tables all stood vacant. Most had been pushed to the sides, leaving a central table with three place settings waiting: two on one side of the table and another across from them.

The Wander security team, if that was what they were, remained outside and Arthur was impressed by the display of confidence, no doubt according to the Commissioner's plan. Even if he and Uther were clearly on the outs, together they outnumbered and outweighed her, and he didn't see a blaster or a prod or any sort of weapon anywhere on her belt. That didn't mean she didn't have them, but it was another show of power on her part.

She stood behind the single setting and gestured to the other side. "Sit, please."

Despite knowing nothing else about her, Arthur could read the sharpness of her smile and the hardness of her eyes. He was beginning to suspect her plans for him might not be any better than Uther's. But Arthur was a man short on options and allies at the moment, so he sat.

Uther did not. When he spoke for the first time since forcing an end to Arthur's goodbye, his voice was no longer rough with anger; it trembled, as Arthur couldn't recall it ever doing before. "Morgana—"

"Uther. Sit." The trace of false geniality fell away entirely. She'd carried the imperiousness of command the whole time, but here Arthur saw the woman who could lead the rough-and-tumble denizens of the Wayfarers' Wander without flinching. It reminded him of his father, though Uther tended to skip tact when he could get his way through force or fear.

Before he found out who would win the battle of wills, a knock broke the standoff and one of the other doors to the hall opened to a sheepish looking man. The Commissioner looked murderous, but he threw up a brief salute and said, "Sorry, sir, but we reckoned you'd want to know. Gwen is asking for you, and she's brought Gwaine with her. He's owed a favor, he says, and it's urgent."

It didn't appease her. "Gwaine is on the Wander?"

"Yes, sir. Came with his ship." The man pointed to Arthur.

Morgana's speculative attention didn't sit well with him, but he tried not to give away his discomfort or anything else as she studied him. Her enigmatic smile returned and she said, "Of course. Gentlemen, excuse me for just a moment."

No sooner was she gone than Uther rounded on him, sneering. "So you really have thrown in your lot with that criminal scum."

Arthur stood, refusing to be cowed. "More like he's thrown his lot in with me. And my men and I could do worse for allies."

"'Your men' are traitors and fools, and you're a fool too if you don't see that that boy will turn them against you just as he turned you against me."

"No." He'd heard enough. His entire life he'd deferred to Uther, excused his temper. He'd said nothing of the cruelty Merlin had faced at his hand; worse, he'd been amused by it. Until Uther had sworn to send Merlin to the Gauntlet, and then to his grave, Arthur hadn't seen the true malice behind it. "Camelot may see us as traitors, but we've harmed no one and _threatened_ no one. The only person responsible for turning me against you is you. And make no mistake, it is you I'm against. Camelot still has my loyalty and my heart, even if I'm no longer welcome there."

"If Camelot truly had your heart," Uther spat bitterly, "we would never have had this problem."

"I can love them both!" Arthur's yell bounced off the walls and rang back at him, condemnation for having spent so long himself doubting that very thing. He ignored it. "I could've had them both, if you'd only let me. But you weren't satisfied just making me choose between them, even though I did what you wanted. I chose my position, my responsibilities. You had to make me choose between Camelot—you—and letting him die. What did you think I'd do? Tell me, what would you have done, if you'd been forced into the same decision about Mother?"


	22. Chapter 22

A commanding woman strode into the chamber where he and Gwaine had been ushered after Gwen got them through the first guarded door and Gwaine made his case to the security officer who greeted them. The rest of their group had been made to wait outside, which didn't sit well with him. But it wasn't like he had much of a choice.

The woman wore a similar uniform to the officers, deep purple and stylistically asymmetrical, but prominent emblems decorated her shoulders to declare her rank. That, Merlin figured, had to be the infamous Morgana; she had an imperious and imposing presence that went a good way to explaining Gwaine's trepidation.

The fact that she immediately asked, "And why shouldn't I have you thrown out the airlock?" explained a little more. Gwaine hunched his shoulders and spread his arms like he was about to try and answer what was apparently the favorite threat of everyone among Gwaine's acquaintances.

Merlin didn't have time. He was used to empty threats from posturing commanding officers, and to less-than-empty threats from ultimate authorities who he now knew wanted him dead, and he wasn't going to let either stop him from getting to Arthur.

"Hi," he said before they could continue, stepping out from behind Gwaine.

They both looked at him; Gwaine with wide-eyed panic, waving at him to hush, and Morgana with raised eyebrows that hovered somewhere between appraising and mocking. She took in his makeshift outfit, gaze tracking slowly from his uncovered shoulder down the tied sheet to his bare legs and feet, but when she looked up again, it was at Gwaine's face, not his.

"What sort of mess have you brought to my Wander, exactly?"

"Yeah, hi," Merlin said again. "The mess's name is Merlin and despite appearances, I'm the one to talk to."

Gwaine continued to frown at him and make unsubtly twitchy shushing motions, but Merlin ignored him. Getting them in to see the Commander was what he'd needed Gwaine's favor for; he didn't think it would do any good in convincing her to intervene. Someone needed to make a compelling case for it, and even if Gwaine's intentions were good, Merlin couldn't trust him to do that.

"Is that so?" He finally had Morgana's attention; he only regretted it a bit as her eyes seemed to pierce his very soul. "Because I was told Gwaine is the one claiming he's owed a favor."

"My captain saved Gwaine's life and now I need to save my captain." He met her unnerving stare without flinching. Though he was still shaken—still terrified of what might happen—it was easy to be brave for Arthur. "So I'm calling in his favor."

"Is that how favors work, where you're from?" she asked archly.

Merlin smiled a blithe smile and lied, "I wouldn't know. Captain claims any debts I'm owed as his own anyway."

"You came on one of the Camelot shuttles. Do you belong to the Pendragons?"

He hadn't realized she knew about the shuttles and their origin. If she knew that, she must have known about Arthur, and probably Uther, too. That was either going to make his task easier or much, much harder. No way to tell which except to go for it.

"Merlin Emrys, former First Navigation Officer of the _Albion_ ," he said. "I belong to Arthur."

It might've been too much to give away. Her eyes rounded in surprised comprehension for a fraction of a second before her face evened out with a smile. It wasn't a very reassuring smile, but all she said was, "I see. You should join me for dinner, Mister Emrys."

"I, uh, what?"

"I insist. It's almost ready, I'll have another place set for you."

She turned to leave, like that was the end of the conversation, so Merlin had to blurt out, "I need you to stop Uther from leaving Wayfarers' Wander."

Without looking back, she asked, "That's what you want for Gwaine's favor?"

"Uther and his men and his ship," Merlin clarified. "I just need you to keep them here until I can find a way to get Arthur. That's all I'm asking."

"Consider it done. Now come before I lose my patience and rescind my generous invitation."

When Merlin glanced over, Gwaine was staring after Morgana, slack-jawed. But he caught Merlin's look and offered him a shrug and a wary thumbs up. _Good luck,_ he mouthed. At least, Merlin thought that was what it was.

Since pushing the matter seemed more likely to backfire than anything else, Merlin had to take her at her word and follow her out the door. They didn't travel far through a few mismatched corridors before another armed guard let them through a door. Morgana stepped aside to let Merlin through first, but he froze as soon as he got a look inside the room.

Arthur and Uther faced each other on the far side of the table, obviously caught in the middle of a fit of emotions. Uther being who he was, his only emotion was splotchy red rage. Arthur's expression was far more complex, angry but also lost, like a child. It made Merlin's heart hurt for him.

It also fueled his own outrage at whatever Uther had done to put it there.

But they both looked to the door when it opened, and the change that came over Arthur's face melted all Merlin's other thoughts away. He was more radiant than a trinary sunrise, and knowing that _he_ inspired that in Arthur did all kinds of funny things to Merlin's heartbeat.

So of course the admiral had to ruin it, like he'd tried to ruin everything else in Merlin's life.

"I don't have time for your games, Morgana. I'll be leaving now. _With_ my prisoners. If you don't stand aside, Camelot will consider this an act of aggression and respond in kind."

Morgana spoke up from behind Merlin, voice cold despite the sweetness of her words. "Have patience, dearest father of mine."


End file.
